Vegas: Invasion
by the morrighan
Summary: The Wraith invade our reality, and Detective John Sheppard is called upon to lead the defense of Earth.
1. Chapter 1

Vegas: Invasion

"_To be or not to be; that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them?"_

**9 months after invasion.**

Detective John Sheppard trod wearily down the hallway. He was exhausted, dirty, dusty, sweaty, and sore but he kept walking. His feet plodded inexorably towards his goal but he was waylaid by an aide who thrust a data pad into his hands. John kept walking, giving a cursory glance at the information scrolling along the screen. He grunted, handed it back to the aide and entered the control center.

"Reno's holding but it won't last much longer," Doctor Rodney McKay stated without preamble. He turned from a radio to nod briskly at John, the only acknowledgement as he turned back to scan the increasingly sporadic frequencies. A line of technicians were seated side by side by side, all wearing headphones and twisting little knobs on antiquated but so far effective equipment.

"Caldwell?" John asked, setting the data pad onto a table littered with papers and empty coffee cups and a box of stale doughnuts.

"No word yet."

"Lorne?"

"Heading up the defense of NORAD and the SGC. He hopes to find some stray Drones to send our way, but it doesn't look good. At the very least we've still got a working Stargate and access to naquadah bombs."

John grunted in reply. He glanced along the dark monitors. "You'll get 'em to work. Weir?"

"Shoring up the leftovers from the last culling. Look." Rodney turned, unrolled a map of the United States across the table. Portions were lined in red. Others in green. He pointed as he talked. "The East Coast is gone now. The West is soon to follow. That leaves us here, up to the front lines in Chicago, down to Dallas, and up to Portland. Canada's holding but it's shaky. Mexico is falling. South America capitulated."

"Great." John scowled.

"You saw the updates?"

"Yeah." John shifted his stance. Aches assaulted him. He was so tired he could have fallen asleep on his feet, but not yet. Not yet. "Anything else?"

"Not at the moment no. Oh…we're running out of popcorn."

The two men shared a brief smile.

"I'll grab some on the next run. I'm starting my twenty-four now, Rodney." He glanced round at the technicians, the scientists, as if any would dispute his right to his twenty-four hours of being completely left alone.

Twenty-four hours when no one was to disturb him for any reason. There were no exceptions. None. Twenty-four hours when he was no longer in charge of the defense of this sector. This sector of America that was still standing. One of the pockets of planet Earth's defenses against the invaders.

Against the Wraith.

"Where?" he asked, his voice clipped and terse.

"Lab three, level two."

John nodded. He turned, resumed walking. He paused at the armory, handing over his P90, his TAC vest, his handgun and grenades. He dusted off his camo gear, but only made it worse as dirt fluttered and just settled in new places on him. He sighed, headed for the stairs and descended two flights. He nodded as people greeted him, marines with deference and salutes, scientists with politeness and smiles.

A flurry of voices drew him to one of many laboratories located deep within the facility. He paused on the threshold. Scientists were swarming like bees all buzzing at once, throwing theories and words into the air and seemingly not listening to each other. It was a blur of white coats and gesticulating arms.

John blinked to clear his sight. To find the one scientist he wanted. The one scientist he needed. She was standing at a microscope, an island of stillness and quiet in the cacophony around her. She was peering at something through the lenses, oblivious to the commotion around her, or used to it by now. Her long brown hair was trapped in a ponytail that snaked down her back, down the white lab coat she wore.

John entered the room. Voices paused, hushed. The mutter of colonel went round. He had been instantly reinstated to the Air Force after the invasion; promoted from major to colonel in one day. He neared with slow steps. He smiled. "Doctor Sheppard…bringing sexy back to the lab coat," he drawled in a husky voice.

Doctor Moira Sheppard smiled, hearing his voice. She closed her eyes a moment, drowning in the sheer relief that he was safe and back with her once more. She turned to him. "Detective."

John smiled. She was the only one who still called him that. A title from another life. A life before the invasion. Her white coat parted to reveal her very swollen belly under a green t-shirt. He stepped to her. Kissed her, a brush of his lips across hers.

He tried for a deeper kiss but she giggled softly as his beard tickled her. "John," she said warmly.

He touched her arms. His hands slid down to either side of her fuller breasts, down to her hips. He moved to his knees in front of her and gently touched her belly, kissed it tenderly. "Hey John junior. Not ready yet?"

"Not yet, John," Moira sighed, staring down at him. "Carson says it could be any day now." He met her gaze, concern and love filling his green eyes, and she marveled over the sheer beauty of the man at her feet. Even dirty and sweaty and grimy and bearded he was still impossibly handsome. His disarray only gave him a rakish quality that made her long for a more sensual greeting. She touched his hands on her belly.

It was an oddly intimate moment between them and the others in the room looked away with awkward coughs and embarrassed silence.

John moved to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, sweetie, don't worry. John!" Suddenly she engulfed him in a hug, kissing him lavishly.

John returned the kisses, the hug. "Let's go, baby," he said into her ear. Turned with his arm around her. "Twenty-four," he informed her. "Quadruple S starts now, Moy." He freed her only to take her hand and lead her towards the doorway.

The scientists parted like a white wave, allowing them passage. "Colonel, what is quadruple S?" one asked, perplexed at yet another new military code he might have to learn.

John paused to smile at the younger man, informed gravely, "shower shave sex sleep. But not necessarily in that order." He raised a brow as he glanced at his wife.

"John Sheppard!" Moira scolded, feeling a blush on her face at his suggestive, playful expression. "Let's go, detective, before that warrant expires!"

John laughed. "That's more sex talk for—"

"John!" She pulled him out of the room.

"What? I was just being helpful."

"Great, just great. Now he'll be trying to figure out how the hell we do it when I'm this big!" she grumbled, pulling him down another flight of stairs with awkwardly.

"We can always demonstrate Sheppard's Delight for him, baby," John reasoned with a smirk. "There were plenty of tables in there."

"Funny, John. Shut up!"

He chuckled at her scolding."Stop it, Moy. You know arguing with you gives me a hard-on."

She paused in the doorway to their room. Turned and smiled coyly at him. "I know."

John grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

Vegas: Invasion2

"_To die; to sleep; No more; and, by a sleep to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd."_

**3 hours after invasion.**

"Good God, man, I told you to not to kill him!" Carson scolds in outrage as he watches John half dragging, half carrying the lifeless body of Todd the Wraith into the hospital room. The doctor is appalled but more concerned about John as he looks like he didn't quite win the battle.

John drops the body onto the floor, almost collapsing himself but he finds his footing. "Sorry," he rasps. "Couldn't be helped." His gaze darts to the bed where Moira is reclining, but she doesn't look like his Moira anymore. She is a woman aged decades in mere seconds and is dying from it. "Is she-"

"Barely holding on!" Carson shakes his head and wheels over a strange-looking contraption of wires and electrodes and a heart defibrillator. "We'll have to improvise. Help me get it into the chair here." He hauls one side, John the other and both men hoist the dead Wraith into a wheelchair. The head lolls, tongue protruding and Carson rights it with a grimace. "All right, then. Can you stand long enough to keep it steady?"

"Yes," John replies, although he feels dizzy and sick and hurts all over. But he shoves all that aside and glances at Moira again. He holds the Wraith upright in the wheelchair as Carson works, applying electrodes to the exposed brain stem and inserting clamps along the ridges of the spine. He cuts into the head and inserts more wires with long, long needles to penetrate areas of the brain that are necessary.

Carson works quickly, like some mad scientist out of a horror movie, like a Doctor Frankenstein trying to bring life to a dead body. He frowns, curses under his breath and uses a scalpel to cut into some soft tissue. Blood oozes like black glue. He adjusts the machines, flicking them on. The lights flutter then grow steady as the backup power is still running, for now. He shakes his head, watching a small monitor. The body jerks and startles John who almost yelps and loses hold of the body. "It…it won't work."

"What?" John's question comes slowly, as if out of a fog. He can't believe after all of this, after all he has endured that he has failed to save Moira. "I thought you could use the enzyme sac."

"I'm sorry, John, it doesn't work that way. I don't have enough power here. I can't trigger the autonomic nervous system artificially to make it mimic a feeding and then a restoring reversal. It…it needs to be natural." He meets the anguished gaze of the other man. "It needs to feed."

The two men stare at each other as the awful implication sinks in on them. To save one life another must be taken. And they are running out of time.

"It can feed on me," John decides.

"No. It would kill you in that state you're in and you wouldn't supply enough to save Moira. We need a…"

"Volunteer," John finishes for him. He knows what he has to do. The grim necessity propels him as he glances at Moira and sees the heart monitor is nearly flat lining now. He frees the Wraith. "Give me a minute."

"John! You can't! You can't mean to…" Carson's words fall away as John's gaze is unrelentingly grim and determined. He watches the injured man leave the room, limping. Carson looks at Moira and steels himself. He readies the machines.

John doesn't have time to pick and choose. To find someone who is already dying or someone who even might deserve this kind of fate. As fate would have it the first person he encounters is someone he knows. His stomach tenses but he forces an acknowledging smile as she approaches, concern on her pretty face.

"John? Oh my God…John! You need to see a doctor immediately!"

"I am. Come with me, Molly, please. I need your help."

"Of course, John! What happened to you!" the nurse asks, concerned as he takes her arm and guides her quickly to a room. She is worried about him and hopes that if she does help him he just might take her out for that dinner he had kept promising to do and never did.

"I'm sorry, Molly," John says gruffly, shutting the door and almost shoving her towards the wheelchair.

She sees what is in the wheelchair and screams.

There is a man.

Moira is jerked out of her miasma by a scream. She stares dully, dimly recognizing the man as he drags a woman towards a wheelchair and holds here there. She struggles in his grasp.

"Do it," the man says, his voice gruff and curt.

There is another man in a white coat that is turning buttons on a machine. A whine emits and the thing in the wheelchair jerks to life. Moira's eyes widen with clarity as she recognizes the Wraith, its arm extending, the sucker extending and latching onto the screaming woman's chest. Moira's sight and mind sharpen with fear.

She sees John holding a woman as she is fed upon by a Wraith! The expression on his handsome face is one of grim resolve, more terrifying than what is happening to the woman. Moira whimpers in recognition, in fear, in utter disbelief at what she is witnessing. The nurse's life fades as her years are taken, taken. Moira closes her eyes, unable to watch, her mind refusing what her eyes had shown her. She struggles to speak, to breath but her heart is racing, racing now and she can feel each gasp, each heartbeat as the woman expires near her.

Moira loses the battle herself and slides into blackness.

"I should be able to reverse it and save this woman as well, I think, I think," Carson stammers but he knows it is a lie and he stares at what had once been a lovely woman and is now a barely breathing aged woman. John gently sets hers onto the floor. He knows it is a lie as well but if Moira is restored to him he can live with that, he can live with anything as long as his Moira is alive and well and with him.

He turns to see Moira unconscious, eyes closed. Chest unmoving.

"NO!" John bellows, freeing the woman to rush to Moira. The flat line beep is ominous, horrible. John grabs Moira's arms and shakes her, as if he could shake her back to life. "Moira! Moira! Moira!" he shouts, and the heart monitor flutters with a resumption of life but it is weak, so weak and fragile.

"John! Hold her steady and attach the arm! I can reverse the feeding process and restore her but it has to be now!" Carson orders. He shoves the wheelchair to Moira's bed. He switches the machine to standby, and then restarts it as he half lifts the Wraith to lean over Moira's body. "I can get the autonomic nervous system to mimic the feeding but make it a reversal if I change the frequencies in the brain stem and the—

"Just do it, doc!" John pleads, hauling Moira somewhat upright in the bed.

"Hold onto her, John! Don't let go!"

John grabs the arm and presses it to her chest. "Moira, hold on! Moira, can you hear me? Moira!"

His voice breaks over her name and he grunts, feeling the arm jerking to false life in his hands. He feels the energy rushing along it, feels the emptying of the enzyme sac and he closes his eyes and prays that this will work, this will work, this will work…


	3. Chapter 3

Vegas: Invasion3

"_To die; to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause."_

Moira sat on the bed, watching her husband sleep. She was eating some ice cream out of a carton as she lovingly gazed upon John. He wasn't snoring for a change as he lay sprawled on his side. He was lost in a deep slumber, enjoying the last of the four 'S' activities. He had shaved but already his smooth face was beginning to shadow with stubble. His bare arm was flung out of the blankets and she traced the hard muscles along it. Along with a few scratches and bruises. His forearm was lined with dark hair that looked even darker against the white of the sheets.

She missed her lilac sheets and her lilac bed.

Moira was pleasantly tired but couldn't sleep. She hadn't been sleeping well at all, what with John being on the front lines for so long plus the impending birth of their child. Not to mention the dire race to find a way to combat the Wraith through biological warfare. The search for any advantage they could invent against the enemy. At all costs. At any cost.

Save one.

She touched her abdomen for a moment. The baby was due any day. It was a miracle that she had survived at all, much less the baby inside her. The pregnancy had been closely monitored after the traumatic events that had almost ended both of their lives. The even more traumatic events that had ensued to save them had been almost more harrowing.

She shivered at the memories even now. It was one of the reasons why she slept so poorly. One reason among many.

Her wedding ring glinted golden in the light and she looked at it. It was a simple gold band but it meant so much. She smiled, recalling all the times she had refused him, and all the times he had insisted they were getting married. A snort made her eye the bed again.

John had rolled onto his back. He groaned as aches and pains assailed his protesting muscles. He opened his eyes, not feeling his wife beside him. He saw her. Moira was sitting on the bed. A long navy t-shirt draped her curves and the pregnancy. She was eating some ice cream, her gaze assessing him. "Moy?" he asked.

He sat, rubbed his eyes, his stubbly chin. He yawned, stretched his arms over his head. The blankets fell away to reveal his lean, muscled torso. The dark hair on his chest concealed the scars and scabs that lingered on his skin. He flexed his biceps, twisting a bit not to show off but to work a kink in his back. "Moy?" he repeated, disturbed at her silence. "Shit. How long this time?" he grumbled, running a hand through his dark brown hair.

"Six hours, sweetie," she responded at last. She had forgotten what she had wanted to say, distracted by his motions, his movements. Distracted by the memory of that hard, lean, warm body pressed to hers and giving her waves of pleasure from head to toes.

He frowned. "Six? Shit!"

"It's all right, John. You needed it."

"I don't want to waste our twenty-four sleeping, damn it," he grumbled.

"You have more important concerns, detective."

"I do?" he asked, puzzled, but he relaxed seeing the warmth in her brown eyes.

"Yes. This is the last carton of caramel vanilla ice cream. My ice cream."

"Oh oh," he sincerely mourned. "Hey, I'll do what I can, baby, but it's not like I can just run out to the store and get some, now is it?" he defended to her stern gaze. "Fine, baby, I'll move that request to the top of the supply list, all right? Anything to keep the pregnant woman happy."

She smiled. "Damn right, sweetie." She leaned close, kissed him. "Here." She fed him a spoonful.

"Thank you, doctor, for sharing your precious ice cream with me."

"You're the only one, John." She fed him some more, sat back and deliberately trickled some of the melting dessert on his chest.

"Hey!" he protested as the sticky coldness hit his skin, but he smiled as she set the carton aside and leaned to kiss him, to lick the ice cream off his skin. "Ah, baby," he wooed, running his fingers in her long, loose hair as her mouth teased and tickled him.

Moira sat back and licked her lips. But she grew serious. She took his hands into hers, scooting closer to him. "Is it bad?"

"Worse," he admitted. He kissed her. "Why don't you get naked and get in here with me, baby?"

She stood, slipped into the blankets next to him but left on the large t-shirt. She snuggled against him as his arm went round her. He stroked her arm as she let her fingers caress his chest, tangling in the chest hair and the still unfamiliar dog tags. John touched her swollen belly, gently caressed as she rested her head on his shoulder, getting comfortable. "John?" she prompted at last.

He sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing in her love, her concern. All for him. Only for him. "Lines are holding for now. Everything east of Chicago is gone. West of Phoenix is gone too. No word from Vancouver. Government's relocated to Denver, what's left of it. Don't really care. At least the cullings have stopped. For now."

Moira kissed his lips, his cheek, his brow, offering what comfort she could. "They're sated. For now. Overfull. They won't decimate their stock. They know by now that we are the only inhabited planet in this solar system."

"Progress?" he asked, opening his eyes to view the small room. The dim lights were a warm amber glow on familiar possessions. What little they had.

"Carson's working on a serum to strip away the bug elements of their DNA, theoretically leaving only the human DNA and thus rendering them impotent, but it's a temporary fix at best. His work on a new bio-toxin is more promising."

"And?" he prompted quietly, kissing her brow.

She sighed, snuggled. Holding onto him suddenly, as if he was about to leave but he wasn't going anywhere. "Everything's fine, John. The baby is due any day now and he is healthy. The double ATA gene hasn't had any negative effects on him. It just amped up my mojo, as you so charmingly put it. You still need to paint the baby's room, John, now that we finally found the blue paint…Evan was kind enough to give it to us so you need to paint the baby's room…"

Moira was trying not to fall asleep, but John was so warm, so solid. He was more amenable to cuddling now that the sex had been enjoyed. He was like a warm, fuzzy blanket and Moira curled into him, as the cadence of his voice soothed, as the love lulled her into security. "And you need to build the crib, John," she added, trying to stay awake. She didn't want to sleep.

She didn't want to dream.

She didn't want to remember.

John stroked her arm, her back. He showered gentle kisses on her brow, her cheek, her lips, easing them to recline in the bed. He knew she was fighting it. He knew she was having trouble with sleeping, with nightmares, with the pregnancy although she hadn't said a word to him.

Carson had.

He knew she needed to sleep, really sleep. He kept her close, kept her safe and continued to stroke her arm, her back. He could feel her relaxing, her voice becoming softer and softer as she succumbed at last.

His brow furrowed as he considered her words. As he considered what she hadn't said to him. He glanced at the clock, seeing how much time they had left before the inevitable interruptions.

John scowled. He kissed Moira's brow and stared at nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

Vegas: Invasion4

"_There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,"_

**3.5 hours after invasion.**

There is a man.

He is indistinguishable at first. He is a shadow in the moonlight, then a dim silhouette at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel. He calls her name over and over and over. His voice is familiar, rising and falling with its unique cadences and emotion.

Moira struggles towards him but he is so far away from her. She feels trapped in the murk and tries to reach for him, tries to run. His features are becoming clearer now, recognizable and she fights all the more to reach him. His name hovers on her mind she can't quite recall it. Not yet as she runs and runs up the long tunnel, out of the darkness and into the light. Towards the impossibly handsome man calling her, calling her. She runs into his arms as he calls her name…

Moira's eyes snap open and her vision is at first flooded by bright light. She jerks upright and the pain is intense, immediate. But not as intense as the terror that engulfs her. A strong pair of hands shoves her onto her back and holds her down as she struggles, gasping. She fights for every breath, for every heartbeat. Her gaze sharpens and she sees the Wraith leaning over her, its palm fastened like a leech to her chest.

She screams.

But no sound comes out of her. Her scream of silence fades as she feels a rush of endorphins, of energy, of enzyme. She can feel the years being restored to her, the withered husk of her body reviving and renewing inexplicably. She stares at the gruesome Wraith but it looks like no Wraith she has ever seen. The head lolls to one side and it is supported by John. John who is pressing it to her, pressing her down onto the bed as if he would kill her or cure her but she knows his name now and tries to say it, tries to say anything, anything at all…

Rodney smiles. He is swinging gently in a hammock, the air on his face. But someone is shaking him roughly and it is annoying. His smile turns to a frown. He opens his eyes to find himself suspended from an iron beam hundreds of feet off the ground. All is darkness above and below except for a tiny light shining on his bloody face.

"McKay!" A man shouts but Rodney is too terrified to listen. He suddenly remembers everything. The dark nebula forming as the rift opened. The explosion when he interrupted the Wraith energy beam. The backpack is holding him aloft and has saved his life but he hears the material ripping as he moves. He is helpless to stop it, to save himself and as the last thread snaps cleanly he is freefalling to his death but he is jerked upwards at the last second. Hands are grabbing him and he is swinging once more in the hot air, his legs flailing like a pinwheel.

He grabs onto what is left of the wall and the beam, cries out as his burned hands protest the motion but he forces them to grab anyway. He shoves as the other man hauls and hauls and with a massive thrust he is up and over the ledge and flat on his back on the floor.

Safe.

Thankful for the solid surface under him he is a loss for words, an extraordinary event in and of itself as he stares up at the ceiling. Except most of the ceiling is gone and the night sky is a wave of darkness. Lights start to twinkle and he realizes they are the stars visible once more. The building lists and he has a very bad feeling.

"Don't thank me or anything."

Rodney turns his head to see Evan Lorne sprawled next to him, rubbing his sore arms as he catches his breath. The length of a rope is coiled around him and Rodney follows it to the doorway but there is no one there and the rope is a pile of ripped threads. He is about to speak when a terrible groaning noise fills the air. It is the dying cry of the building. The structure begins to swing and sway although there is no wind, only a hot breeze swirling.

And suddenly they are moving. The entire floor is moving downwards, pancaking floor by floor as the building at last gives way to the violence and the elements.

"I'll thank you if we survive this," Rodney quips as both men scramble on the ride to the ground.

John waits for Carson's word. When he hears it he frees Moira from the Wraith and hurls the body to the floor. He sits close on the bed, staring in wonder as she is restored to him. As her youth and vigor bloom like a flower. As the dried skin becomes smooth and rosy. As her long hair turns from white to brown. As her parched lips turn moist as she tries to speak. As her brown eyes regain their focus and their light and their recognition as she stares up at him.

He gentles his hold on her arms. Smiles. "Moira? Moy," he says quietly, as a surge of emotion catches in his throat and fills him, fills his voice. Every pain, every ache, every wound is forgotten as he stares at the woman he loves. The woman he has saved.

He doesn't think at what cost.

Moira blinks. She frowns, staring up at him. Memories come and go, come and go. But they are not important now, not as important as the man sitting on the bed staring at her with such a depth of emotion in his green eyes. "John…" she whispers.

John feels a tension easing in him at her soft voice. "Moy. Doc?"

Carson blinks back tears and checks the monitors. He grabs an Ancient scanner and runs it over her body. "She's fine. Strong heartbeat, strong lungs, normal brain activity. She's even healthier than before the, um, um, the thing. Completely stable and the heartbeats…the heartbeats…oh my God…"

"What? What is it?" John asks quickly, turning to see the stunned expression on Carson's face.

"The baby," Moira whispers, touching John's arm. He looks back at her but she is smiling. She closes her eyes as sleep claims her.

"Aye, love. The baby." Carson meets John's gaze again and smiles. "The baby is alive, John. The baby is alive and well!"

"What? Huh? I…" John's astonishment blurs as does his vision. Now that the crisis has past whatever had been holding him upright and alert dissipates. He suddenly slumps and collapses on top of Moira as the world fades to black.

Rodney lifts his head from his arms. "Shit." He coughs. He is covered in plaster. Pain escalates along his back and shoulders where the backpack gouged into him. He stares around at the ruins of the building that has been flattened under them. It had been a dangerous ride, slamming and slamming downwards with beams cracking and groaning and floors crashing but he had made it in one piece.

He feels terra firma at last under him and is tempted to kiss the ground but instead he moves awkwardly to his feet. "We're down! Evan, we're down! Evan?" Hearing an answering groan he moves to a pile of debris to find the other man trying to move under it.

"A little help here, please!" Evan grouses, swears as he is trapped under piles of upheaved flooring.

"Oh! Sorry!" Rodney begins to pull the pile apart to reveal the other man under it. "We're down! I mean we're on the ground, well, probably a few inches off the ground on top of all of this but we aren't in the air anymore is what I mean," Rodney babbles as he shifts junks of masonry and Evan is at last able to lurch to his feet.

"Yeah, I noticed," he quipped, brushing plaster out of his hair, off his face. He feels trickles of blood from several cuts but it's nothing serious.

"What happened? Did it work? I saw the stars but I remember seeing the dark nebula before I interrupted the matter stream so the rift was open but was it open long enough for—"

"McKay! You've got to see this!" Steven Caldwell barks at them, gestures. He is covered in plaster as well but he is alive and that's something.

Rodney and Evan exchange a glance and exit the remains of the room, of the building to stand on the debris-strewn street. All three men stare up at the sky to see an enormous spaceship emerging from the remnants of darkness still staining the night sky. Lights flicker along it.

"Oh oh," Evan remarks.

"Crap," Rodney agrees. "Oh…and thank you."

"Well, one isn't so bad, is it? We could…"

Evan's words trail off as the ship is visible against the night sky. It is a gray mass looming larger and larger, its pointed prow aiming like a dagger at the heart of Vegas. It is silent.

But then another Hive ship is visible.

Then another.

Then another.


	5. Chapter 5

Vegas: Invasion5

"_The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes When he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?"_

John felt Moira stir in his arms. She was asleep, but dreaming. She was snuggled close to him as they reclined in their bed. Her fingers were grasping at him, at his bare chest, pulling slightly at his chest hair, as the dog tags he now wore. She was making soft, soft whimpering sounds and John pulled her even closer, kissing her brow, her cheek.

He frowned, hearing her distress. He knew she remembered. He knew she remembered everything. She hadn't suffered from the amnesia he had developed after being fed upon and then brought back to life by a Wraith. By Todd. John didn't know how or why she remembered everything, only that she did. He protected her from all inquiries by playing along, by endorsing her claims she couldn't remember much at all about the whole experience.

He didn't question her. He let it be, waiting for her to be ready to tell him if she needed to talk. But he knew. He knew by the way she would look at him sometimes. By the way she would touch the faint marks on her chest. By the way she would touch her abdomen and seem to focus inward on the baby that was growing and developing.

By the way she avoided all and any mention of Todd.

Moira started, abruptly awake. "John!" She moved, but relaxed, finding herself in his arms.

"Ssh, Moy," he soothed. He brushed his lips over hers. "I'm here now. You're fine, the baby's fine, I'm fine. It's all right."

"I…sorry, I…" She sat free of him, shoving her messy hair out of her face. "I didn't mean to fall asleep like that!"

"It's all right, sweetheart. No, don't move." He guided her back to him as he sat. "You okay?"

Moira nodded, but she snuggled into him again, her gaze on his chest. Her fingers played along the scabs and scars almost hidden by the dark, coarse hair. "Yes, I was just tired. I'm so tired, John. It's…it's the birth. Carson assures me it could be any day now and I think it might be making me remember some, some stuff…" She felt a blush on her face at the falsehood. "And with the birth any day and you God knows where doing God knows what and I, I…" she spluttered, feeling tears.

John's mouth caught hers in a lengthy kiss and Moira suddenly found herself on her back. John pressed close to her, gently guiding as his hands slid along her arm, her side, her thigh now, pulling up the long t-shirt with practiced ease. "Moira. You can talk to me anytime, you know. Whenever you are ready, sweetheart. And I will be here. I'm not leaving the facility now until our son is born, so don't worry about that. Don't worry about anything."

"John?" she squeaked, brown eyes wide as she felt him stiffen along her thigh. Felt his long fingers stroking, stroking.

He smiled. "Yes, baby. So fucking sweet," he wooed into her ear, running kisses along her throat as he carefully, so carefully positioned his body to align with hers.

"No, wait! You, you won't be leaving in a day or two?" she asked, staring at his handsome face. She ran her fingers along the shadowy stubble lining his jaw. Touched his full, perfect lips.

"No." He kissed her fingers. Kissed down her wrist, her arm. Kissed her lips and along her cheek to her ear. "No, Moy. I am staying right here with you until our son is born. I won't let you go through that alone. I'm right here, sweetheart. Now relax."

Moira smiled, shifting under him but paused again as he kissed along her throat. "John? But, but what about the—"

"Don't care. You, Moira. You and my son. My only priority now, as always. Moira."

She felt tears. "John…you…you…John…"

"Ssh," he soothed into her hair. "Just give yourself to me, baby. I only want you…and our son when he finally decides to join us."

Rodney shook his head, scowling. "I don't like this. For every two satellites we get up and running again the Wraith take down one. It's like they're playing with us. Why not just wipe them all out at once and completely cripple our more advanced communication systems?"

"Why haven't they destroyed Nellis AFB yet?" Richard Woolsey countered. "At least they haven't discovered the SGC hidden under NORAD. If the Stargate is ever compromised…" He left the rest unsaid. Both men knew it was the last line of defense, the last hope of any kind of help for the dire situation. Except Rodney had another more radical idea he hadn't shared with anyone yet. Richard folded his arms across his chest as he surveyed the maps spread on the table. "Who knows how they think or even what they think?"

"That is precisely what we need to know!" Rodney sighed. "If Lorne can secure those Drones we may have a fighting change. Maybe. If I can get enough power from the last ZPM to activate the Ancient Chair's systems with an ATA-enabled controller. It's not like we can grab a Wraith and interview him now can we? We've tried interrogation before all of this and it was a dismal failure."

"We need Sheppard's input on this. Maybe he can think of something to—"

"Not yet." Rodney halted the other man's forward motion with a look, a lift of his hand. "He's still on his twenty-four."

Richard frowned, but acquiesced with a shrug. "How much longer?"

Rodney glanced at his watch. "Seven more hours. We have more immediate concerns. The planetary disasters…they are increasing. Moira's been running a trajectory and she says it is scarily similar to a paleo-ecological event that happened millions of years ago and should take millions of years to happen again. But it's happening much, much faster."

"And what is precipitating this? The invasion?"

"Perhaps. I'm not sure. It's not really my field, but she's in contact with some geologists and paleontologists and a climatologist. At least when she can be. These damn radios don't work all of the time, and the cell phones are increasingly useless." Rodney sighed. He rubbed his forehead. All of the late nights were taking their toll on him.

"Nevertheless we need Sheppard's input on this latest intel. It will only take about five minutes and then he can return to—"

"Dick, I wouldn't." The warning was terse, but clear. Others were nodding their agreement although they hadn't been consulted.

Richard frowned. "I know the rules, but this will only take five—"

"Even if it took one second it doesn't matter. Don't interrupt his twenty-four. You'll regret it, believe me," Rodney warned. "Give the man some private time with his wife, for God's sake! He rarely gets to see her as it is and she is due to give birth any day now!"

Richard stared. The outburst of hostility was rare from the physicist. "It won't take that long, Rodney. I'm sorry, but there we are waging a war right now and that won't stop. Not even for Shepppard." Grabbing a file he headed out of the room.

There were murmurs of dissent, of trepidation. Rodney shook his head. He looked back at the maps on the table. The coffee stains circling various roads, the stale doughnuts littering the papers with crumbs. He stepped to a console where a transmitter was beeping. "Send out another signal to the SGC. Maybe they have some good news for us," he instructed.

He grabbed his own file. "I'll be down in Level C with the ships. Page me if I am needed." He headed out of the room with swift strides.

He wondered if Richard had any idea how fiercely John would defend his private time with Moira.

A report of gunfire wouldn't have surprised him at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Vegas: Invasion6

"_Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn no traveller returns puzzles the will,"_

**4 hours after invasion.**

Moira wakes suddenly, her heart pounding in her chest with unnamed terror. She sits, calming as she recognizes the confines of the hospital room. She blinks against the bright lights, touches her abdomen as she recalls that the baby is fine. She looks at her hand to be certain it is hers and no longer resembles her grandmother's.

Other memories intrude and she shudders. She looks at the floor, expecting bodies but the floor is devoid of both the hapless nurse and the odd Wraith. She shivers as memory floods and she feels queasy, feels sick at what had occurred to save her. She looks at the bed next to her and sees John lying there, asleep.

Moira gets out of the bed and steps to his. She sees all the cuts and bruises on his handsome face. She can imagine them all over his body. Dried blood stains the sheet at his stomach where a bulky bandage is visible. She stares at his hair, dark and disorderly against the white pillow. The hair on his forearms is dark against the white sheets. His chest hair is dark against the white scrubs he wears.

She feels tears. She steps closer and touches his stubbly jaw. Runs her fingers through his hair. She knows he is injured, in pain but he fought through it all to save her. To save their baby. Only succumbing when she was safe, when the baby was. She knows exactly what he has done to save her. The cost.

"John." She kisses his brow, not knowing what to feel, what to say. Guilt vies with relief. She is appalled and overcome at the same time. Hearing footsteps she straightens.

"There's no need for tears, Moira. He'll be fine now." Carson's voice is full of kindness, concern. "Should you be out of bed, love?"

Moira looks at John, trying to reconcile the gentle doctor with what he had done to save her. "I'm fine." She touches John's arm. With her other hand she touches her abdomen, turns to the doctor. "The baby?"

Carson smiles. "Fine. Thriving, believe it or not. I don't know how but I do have a few theories about that."

"How?" Moira asks, but gasps softly as John's hand is suddenly on hers at her abdomen. She looks over to meet his gaze.

He smiles. "Moy. You okay? The baby?"

"We're fine, John." She looks at Carson. "How?" she repeats, as John's fingers curl over hers.

"DNA breathing. It is a natural unzipping of portions of paired DNA strands that occurs every few nanoseconds to expose the chemical units to potential manipulation by enzymes."

"The Wraith enzyme?"

"Aye, love…that initial burst that invigorates the cells…in some way I think that the DNA, specifically the ATA gene absorbed that during the unzipping and preserved that precious life when you were being, um, drained. It's the only explanation, plus the fact that the baby wasn't even quite an embryo yet and therefore couldn't be harmed as much as it would have been if it had been a fetus."

As Carson rattles on about the science John only half listens, busy instead drinking in the sight of Moira. She is restored to health and vigor. She looks the way she should, not like the old woman that John remembers from the horrible feeding. She is clad in plain white scrubs but they hug every curve, every swell of her body. Her long hair falls around her in a brown cascade and curls along the swells of the breasts.

John feels a rush of sexual desire despite his weariness and his injuries. He gently squeezes her hand in his, catching her attention. "Moy," he says.

Moira meets his gaze, expression serious from all of the science talk, but her brown eyes fill with warmth and concern. "John, are you all right?"

"Yeah. What's this about a zipper and the baby and the—"

Her lips brush across his, silencing him. "Later, detective, you need to rest," she softly admonishes.

"Moira, how much do you remember?"

Moira freezes at the doctor's question. She recovers and straightens, turns to him, still holding John's hand as he gently caresses her abdomen. "Not much…not clearly," she hedges, knowing both men will need this deception, this absence of what they had done for her. For now.

"Sorry to intrude," Steven Caldwell says as he approaches the trio. His boots are loud on the hospital floor. "We need Sheppard in the Chair now."

"The Ancient Chair…to fire the Drones," John realizes, already moving to his feet. "Got it."

"You've got the strongest ATA and we need to—"

"No." Moira's voice halts all three men. She steps in front of John as if protecting him. "I have the strongest now." She looks at Carson who nods in confirmation. "John needs to rest. Just tell me what to do and how to do it."

"No." John touches Moira's shoulder. "You don't have the military training. I do. We'll both go and I can use her mojo. Give us a sec to get dressed."

Once the two men had gone Moira turns to John. "Mojo?" she asks.

"How?"

"Huh? John, you can't go! You should be resting, not trying to save the world!"

"How is yours stronger than mine?"

She smiles at his sincere puzzlement. "Can't handle the competition, sweetie?"

"Funny, Moira. Oh! The baby?"

"Yes. John, you can't—"

"No, Moy, you are not leaving my side. Ever again," he vows, and abruptly pulls her into a lengthy kiss. She returns the kiss, hugging him as he pulls her body to his, pressing and stroking and suggesting all manner of erotic promises before the kiss ends.

"John? John, you…"

He smiles at her breathless reaction. The sudden flare of passion, of arousal. "We need to have sex, baby, and damn soon, but first let's go save the fucking world. Get dressed." He moves to the pile of his clothes, begins discarding the scrubs and restoring the tattered, bloody, dirty clothing to his body. "And Moy, I am going to marry you as soon as this is done."

She snorts in dismissal, staring, distracted by the sight of his long, lean torso. She is concerned by the bruises and cuts but turns away to quickly pull on her own clothing, biting her lower lip in consternation. "There's no need, John."

He turns to see her pulling a green t-shirt over a lilac bra and curses at his slowness, wishing he had turned more quickly, but the sight of her shapely rear encased in the lilac material makes up for it and he smiles. "Fuck. Pert little ass," fondly notes as she wiggles into her pants. "And there is a need, Moira. I am going to marry you once we get this done."

"No, you're not, John. You will be involved in this baby's life, make no mistake about that, but there's no need to get married. There isn't time and with the world ending why bother at all? Let's go. Are you sure you are up for this? For the Chair, I mean. John?" She has moved to the door and turns expectantly, but he is still standing by the bed, watching her. A bemused and suspicious look on his handsome face. "John?"

He shakes his head. "I'm fine. And I am going to marry you, baby, whether you like it or not. Even if the world as we know it is ending. Don't care. Let's go."

He takes her hand and pulls her out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Vegas: Invasion7

"_And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all;"_

Moira woke. She sat abruptly, not feeling John's solid warmth next to her in the bed. "John?" She heard music from the other room, relaxed. The smell of paint wafted to her on the warm, circulating air. She scrambled out of the bed and to the bathroom to clean up and to get dressed. "John?" she called again.

"Busy, sweetheart!" John called back to her from the spare room that is now the nursery. Or will be soon will be once he has finished making it one. He began to hum under his breath to the rock music playing from a CD player. It was the only music now as active radio stations were few and far between. Luckily John had an excellent collection of music which he managed to rescue from his apartment and their house and requisition from various stores during his travels with his squadrons. Even winning a few in card games.

Some habits die hard.

Moira stepped into the nursery, hands on her hips as she surveyed his handiwork. John was running a roller along one wall, covering the drab surface with sky blue paint. Flecks of blue were on his black t-shirt and his jeans as he worked, sure strong motions of his arm up and down, up and down. Each motion lifting his t-shirt to give her a teasing view of his back and side.

John turned and set the roller into a tray that was balanced on a ladder. He smiled at his wife. "Hey, Moy. So…whaddya think?" His gaze wandered over her loose hair, over the large navy t-shirt that nevertheless clung to every voluptuous curve and swell. The gray pants that hugged her hips and undoubtedly her rear.

Moira frowned, deciding to tease him. "One wall? You've only managed to paint one fucking wall?"

John's smile faded into a pout. "Well, I…I just started, you know."

She sighed loudly. "I expected so much better from you, detective! Damn it, John, this baby could be here any day and you've only painted one wall! What about the crib you still need to assemble? What about the changing table and unpacking the diapers and the—"

"Whoa, whoa, there, you're royal highness!" John protested, hands in the air as she glared at him, hands on her swollen belly now. "One thing at a time, okay? Geez! I just fucking got here! If my son can wait it out so can you, all right? This would go a helluva lot faster if you'd get off that pert little ass and help me, you know!"

Moira smiled, trying not to laugh. "No chance, sweetie. This is your case to solve, not mine. Mine is right here," she patted her belly.

"Yeah, it's kinda impossible not to notice," he jested. He laughed at her playful scowl.

"You are so lucky you said that after we had sex and not before!"

"I know."

They laughed. John resumed painting. Moira watched him. Both enjoyed the quiet, the pretended normalcy, as if they were any other expectant couple preparing for the imminent arrival of a baby. As if the world hadn't changed drastically. As if they were in their home and not in an underground bunker that was miles away from the city in the desert. As if their biggest concern was having enough diapers and not the constant war with the Wraith.

"What do you want for lunch, John?" Moira asked, enjoying watching him work.

"Whatever, baby. I guess you'll eat anything that moves, won't you? Ow!" He turned as she had smacked his rear.

"Not funny, John! You had better watch that smart mouth of yours or no!" She tried to back away but wasn't fast enough. Not fast enough by far.

John flashed a wicked grin and ran the roller over his hand, then pressed his open palm to her belly. He pulled his hand back to reveal a big blue handprint on the shirt's navy material. He laughed. "Just marking my territory, Moy. Mine. So stop your nagging!" He turned back to the wall.

Moira swore, staring at the handprint emblazoned on her shirt, on her pregnancy. But she grinned. "John Sheppard! In that case I should mark mine."

"You wouldn't dare, baby," John taunted, not looking at her. He resumed painting. "You know, Moy, this shade of blue is okay, I guess, but I would have preferred a darker shade of blue. So would my son. Something not as pastel, something more masculine, you know? Shit!"

Moira laughed as he swore after she had soundly smacked his ass. She backed up as he whirled. Seeing her blue hand he glared at her. "You didn't! You fucking didn't!"

"I fucking did, detective!" she retorted, squealed as he dipped his hands into the paint and lunged after her. "No, John, no! John! John!"

He laughed heartily, grabbing her, grabbing her rear and squeezing, then freeing her to cup her breasts as he kissed her. He kept kissing her, guiding her gently against one of the unpainted walls.

Moira squirmed, grabbing his arms but she was melting under his kisses, his humor, his love. She pushed and glared, but her brown eyes were sparkling. "John!"

He chuckled, easing his hold on her and stepped back to view his handiwork. He laughed, seeing the blue handprints on the shirt where her breasts heaved. He motioned and she turned to show the two blue handprints on each cheek encased in the pants. "That's better. Mine. All fucking mine, baby, and you better, oh shit."

Moira had turned to him and placed her painted palm on his crotch, sliding her fingers along the stiffening length of him. "Mine. All fucking mine, sweetie!" She giggled at his ire, quickly slid out of his reach across the room. "Damn it, John! I look like some weird porno art project now!"

"So do I, baby, so deal with it! Hey, weren't you going to get us lunch? I'll go."

"Hell, no! You are under house arrest until I deem otherwise, detective. Now finish this damn room while I am gone!"

"Yes, ma'am!" He saluted. "Then you had better interrogate me, baby. Thoroughly."

She laughed. "I may have to tie you up, detective, to keep that damn warrant in line."

"Whatever works, baby. Oh oh!" He held up his hands in surrender as she approached him but she kissed him.

Moira hugged him tightly suddenly. "John. I am so glad you are back!" she said tersely.

His arms encircled her. "Me too, sweetheart," he said into her hair. He kissed her brow. "Moira, you know you can tell me. You can tell me anything, everything. Whatever you need to talk about, the, the attack, the feeding, reviving you, what we did. I mean, I mean what Carson and I did using Todd to bring you back to us," he swiftly backpedaled, suddenly anxious, "I mean I know what that's like to be fed upon and then revived like that, well, not quite like that but it's about the same, right? Moira? You remember?"

She pulled back from him. Her brown eyes stern, serious. She touched his face. "Yes, John. I remember. I remember everything. I…know. I know what you did."

"What I did?" he asked slowly. Suddenly he was sweating and his heart began to thud.

"Yes, John."

"You mean the, the Wraith. Todd. I…I did my damnedest to bring him in alive but when he taunted me about, about the baby and I thought I had lost you both, I…" Anguish flashed in his green eyes.

"I understand, John. I know you almost got yourself killed for me, for us. I know what you did, John. I have always known." She felt tears.

"Always known? I suspected you remembered the feeding and all of that, the revival, the...all?"

She nodded. Kissed him. "Yes, John. All. It's all right, sweetie. I'll go get lunch."

John stared after her. Speechless. Worried. Distraught.

He resumed painting the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Vegas: Invasion8

"_And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,"_

**4.5 hours after invasion.**

John sits in the Ancient Chair. He is back in the secret government facility, miles below the desert. He closes his eyes and tries to relax. His hands rest on either side of the Chair on the armrest control pads. Suddenly power is activated and the Chair reclines as if to cradle him but he is uncomfortable and the Chair is clearly made for a shorter man. He bends his knees, shifts to get comfortable.

The link between his ATA gene and the Ancient power is instantaneous, is wonderful and John feels a rush of power. He frowns as the power flickers, trying to respond to his thoughts but unable, as if hampered by something.

"ZPM is at half," Rodney calls from behind the Chair as he kneels on the floor, an assembly of wires and crystals at his feet like some bizarre offering. "That's the best I can manage."

"Moira."

Moira starts, hearing John's voice. She had been staring at the Chair in wonder. She had been staring at John as he sits on it, his slouchy position oddly sexual and inviting. His pants are tenting and she wonders if it is just the fabric or the power or idle naughty thoughts he is having. She touches his arm, touches the Chair.

Power zooms. The lights are bright and John smiles. "That's my girl."

"Me or the Chair?" Moira quips.

"Both. Concentrate, Moira."

"On what?" She leans close, whispers, "on that impressive warrant you are serving, detective?"

"What?" John exclaims.

"Whoa! Don't overload the system!" Rodney scolds. "If you two are done flirting can we finish this thing? I haven't had dinner yet!"

"Ha ha. Okay…initializing systems…Drones…hang on. Give me the latest coordinates of the Hive ships."

"Wow!"

"What, my warrant again?" John quips. He opens his eyes to see a star chart twinkling in the air like some 3-D video game, or hologram like on a science-fiction show. He grins, glances at Moira. "This is seriously cool!"

"Sheppard! Focus! Pinpoint a ship and concentrate on destroying it! The Chair will obey your thoughts with some prompting!"

"Okay, McKay! Moira, keep hold!" John closes his eyes. He can feel the surge of power, the strange interface of man and machine. It invigorates him, erases his weariness and aches and he concentrates. "Sending Drones right into the heart of Hive One. Weakest points will be the propulsion drives and the warp engines…the Dart bays are open so we'll go there too…"

"How does he know that?" Moira asks.

"The Chair is telling him," Rodney answers, but there is a note of awe in his voice as well, as if he hadn't expected that either. Rodney taps his radio. "Give me live feed down here!"

A crackling of voices explodes from the radio as the control room is overheard. Moira disregards the words rising and falling in excitement, concentrating on supporting John except she isn't sure how to do that. She holds onto the Chair, onto his arm and worriedly watches as his brow furrows in concentration. His muscles tense under her fingers. "John?"

"Almost there…one way to the engine pods, one wave to the fighter bays…ow…something is happening. Did I hit it?"

"YES!" Rodney exclaims, one ear on the chatter , his hands on the fluctuating ZPM and control crystals. "One Hive ship is destroyed! I repeat one ship is destroyed! Confirmed kill!"

"John, you did it!" Moira exclaims.

John opens his eyes and winks at her. "How many more, Rodney?"

"Three."

"Three? Four got through?" John asked, stunned. His jubilation is short-lived as he looks at Moira who appears equally distressed. "Fuck."

"I think we have enough power for one more go, John. John!"

"Yeah, okay." John reclines in the chair and closes his eyes, concentrating. "There aren't many Drones, Rodney. Each shot will have to count!" He forces himself to relax, allowing the machine to meld with him again. He feels the surge of power, and shifts to controlling it, guiding the Ancient missiles towards the array of enormous ships looming in the Earth's atmosphere.

He feels the release of the Drones, the rush skyward, fast and sure but the Wraith are countering now with their own missiles. Streaks of green lasers zing in the nighttime sky and the Drones swerve to avoid the attack, heading inexorably towards their goal. John finds his hands clenching on the Chair, as if he was holding a joystick and flying a fighter jet. His body moves and he zigs and zags to avoid enemy fire, implacably heading for his goal.

Moira watches in concern. Beads of sweat are glittering on John's forehead. She gently strokes his arm, to reassure, to soothe as he fights what appears to be an imaginary or virtual battle but it is real, very real and taking place above them. The ground rumbles and a massive explosion rips the air high above them, reverberating down even to the underground facility. "Rodney?"

"Winged it…Hive Two is listing and might crash somewhere in the Mojave…Three and Four are on track, no! Dispersing…targeting…targeting satellites and major population centers…" He gulps. "Culling beams sighted."

"Culling beams?" Moira asked, her grasp on John's arm tightening.

"It's how they get their…food. They beam people straight up to their ships."

"So they don't have to put boots on the ground. No risk to them at all. Shit!" John opens his eyes and the power sluggishly fades. The Chair straightens. "We're outta Drones. Power?"

"That too. ZPM is depleted," Rodney notes. He moves to his feet.

"Can this thing fire other weapons?" John asks, not liking the resigned expression on the other man's face. "Can it fire nukes or what was that other stuff? Naquadah?"

"No. The Air Force is sending fighters with nuclear missiles but they are being swatted aside like flies."

John moves off the Chair to stand next to Moira. "Get me into a fighter jet! I can—"

"John!" Moira catches him as he sways, his feet becoming unsteady under him.

"I'm fine, just a little dizzy, is all. McKay, I need to be in the air if this thing ain't working!"

"You're bleeding!" Moira exclaims, seeing the bandage at his waist is bleeding through his t-shirt. A crimson stain blooms on the black fabric.

"That's a negative, Sheppard. You did what you could." Steven enters the room, expression grave. "We can't risk losing you up there. We need every ATA we can get our hands on for the duration of the war. Our only edge is the Ancient tech and only ATA people can operate it."

"We can't just sit here!" John objects, straightening but he keeps an arm around Moira. As much as he wants to join the fight he doesn't want to leave her side, not after getting her back from the brink of death. "We have to—"

"Your orders are to remain right here, along with Doctor Carson Beckett and Major Evan Lorne, and Doctor Rodney McKay and any other ATA personnel we can find!" Steven barks.

"Since when do I take orders from you?" John snaps.

"Since you've been automatically reinstated into the Air Force, Major Sheppard, as of now! Your duty is to provide defense for this facility and the people within it, until ordered otherwise!"

"I would be of more use up there!" John argues, pointing up to the ceiling, to the sky which is now a battleground. He is momentarily shocked by the use of his old title. Major.

"You don't understand the situation up there! We're losing, Sheppard. They are wiping out our defenses, and the world's! Our best hope, our only hope is to keep the ATA personnel hidden and safe until the dust clears!"

"And what then?" Moira asks, clinging to John, relieved he won't be out in the thick of it. At least not yet. At least not tonight.

"And then, Doctor O'Meara? Then we strike back."


	9. Chapter 9

Vegas: Invasion9

"_And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action."_

Moira balanced a tray loaded with food and beverages. For once she was glad of the baby bulge as it nicely doubled as a third hand. She moved carefully out of the cafeteria but the tray began to wobble and tip precariously to one side.

"Moira, whoa! Do you need some help?" Not waiting for an answer Katie Brown deftly caught the bottom of the tray and steadied it.

Moira smiled. "Thanks! I think I overloaded it! Grab those beers, please, before I drop them. John would be heartbroken if anything happened to his precious beer."

Katie laughed and took hold of the three bottles. "We can't have that! I assume that is his handiwork, as well?" The auburn-haired botanist indicated the blue handprints on her friend's shirt. "Apart from the baby, I mean. I know that is his doing."

Moira laughed as the two women began to stroll along the hallway. "Yes, it's all his handiwork! John's idea of a joke, but you should see where I got him."

"You should have sent him for lunch," Katie scolded.

"No, he is finally painting the nursery! And besides, he is under house arrest."

The two women descended the stairs, eschewing the elevator for more privacy. "Has he said anything?" Katie's tone turns abruptly somber.

"No. Not much. We won't get into it until later. But things don't sound very good out there," Moira commented. Sighed. "This is a lousy time to have a baby."

"You can't do anything about that now, Moira. And John wouldn't want you to think like that."

"I know. But it is true, despite how much everyone pretends that it's not."

There was a knock at the door. "Shit." John stepped out of the nursery, wiping his hands on a rag. "There had better be beer for me, Moira. Lots." He opened the door. Stared.

"I know, I know, you're not to be disturbed on your twenty-four but this will only take five minutes," Richard apologized under John's glare. "I just need your opinion on a—"

"Woolsey!"

Richard jumped at the sharp voice and turned to see Moira making a beeline for him, tray in her hands. Katie was standing at the end of the hall, watching. "Um, Moira, this will only take a few minutes, just a few-" he spluttered, raising the folder in his hands as if to defend himself.

"Here!" Moira reached them and shoved the tray into John's hands, all the while glaring at the other man like a lioness defending her mate. "John is not to be disturbed during his twenty-four. There are no exceptions!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just-"

"You'll be sorry if you don't leave now! Go! In!" She shoved John backwards into the room, whirled and slammed the door shut. "Fuck! The nerve of that man!" she exploded. "What does he think? Does he think he can just barge in here and make demands on you while you are under house arrest? My house arrest! You are not to be disturbed on your twenty-four! Everyone knows that! Hell, even the President knows that! Goddamm Woolsey thinks he can just waltz in here like he runs the place? Rodney's in charge when you're not here! Well? John? Damn it, John, say something!"

John's ire had turned to amusement. He was trying not to laugh, both aroused and humored by his wife's ferocity. "I can't, Moy. I'm afraid to say a word," he quipped.

Moira glared then smiled. "And so you should be, sweetie. Here." She took the tray and set it on the table. "I got you a turkey sandwich, detective, the way you like it. And my own concoction of Swiss cheese, cucumbers and sweet relish."

John released the laugh he had been holding. "Ah, Moira! If I had men as fierce as you, sweetheart, I could win this war in a day! But oh my God…are you really going to eat that?"

"Funny, John. Let's have lunch!"

"I'm serious, Moira. Wow! Aren't you even curious about what he oh, okay, me neither, not at all, let's eat lunch," he backpedaled as she glared at him. John grabbed a beer. Took long, generous swallows of the amber beverage. "Seriously, sweetheart, are you going to eat that, that thing? I hesitate to call it a sandwich. Ow!" he complained as she hit his arm.

"Shut up, detective, or I will eat yours as well!" She laughed at his consternation. "I better check on your progress."

Moira crossed to the nursery to stand and stare round the empty room. The two blue walls. The box with the crib was in one corner, as yet unopened. The room felt suspended in time, awaiting completion, awaiting the baby she was carrying. She hugged herself suddenly, daunted by the enormity at the task at hand. Having a baby, raising a baby in some underground facility while the battle for the planet waged on above their heads.

A battle waged by her husband.

She gasped as suddenly John was standing behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, drew her close. Kissed her brow. "John?"

"I know, Moira. It will be all right."

She caught his hands at her waist. "No, John. It won't be all right. How can it be?"

"Simple. Life goes on, Moira, even now. If we stopped they will have won."

"They are winning, John!" She turned to him. Brown eyes wet with unshed tears. "Don't you see that? Why doesn't anyone see that? We can't win this war, John, we never could! The best we can do is to hope to survive and maybe fight them on our terms, but we will never defeat them! They are too advanced for us! Rodney knows that and so do I! You do too but you won't admit it because you can't, not to your men anyway but you can admit to me!"

"No, Moira. They may be winning now—"

"They are winning now!" she interjected.

"But they won't in the long run," he finished, ignoring her outburst. "We'll think of something. McKay will find some technological glitch we can exploit. Beckett will find some bioweapon we can use against them. Lorne will keep the SGC secure and send us those Drones."

"Since when did you become Mr. Optimism?"

He smiled. "Ever since this." He touched the gold ring on her finger. "And this." He touched her swollen belly. "And that's Colonel Optimism, baby. Well, Detective Optimism since it's you." He kissed her. "Moira…my Moira…"

"John! You don't have to pretend for me! Okay? You don't have to pretend anymore. About anything. John…John, I am so sorry." Her brown eyes filled with tears again. "What you had to do, to save me. To save John junior. I couldn't ask that of you. I…"

John tensed. "No, Moira. It had to be done. It was, it was the only way. You…you remember? You remember all of it?"

"Yes, John. I saw you…her…the Wraith….Todd…the…that poor woman. And I don't even know her name."

John hesitated. He looked down at her swollen baby. "Molly," he said quietly. Feeling the need to unburden himself, to seek her absolution if no one else's, even after all of this time. "She was a nurse I knew…she just happened to be the first person I ran into when I was getting a, a volunteer to save you. To save our son, Moira."

Moira touched his arm. Gently stroked. "It must have been terrible for you, John. I am sorry."

He met her gaze. Green eyes fierce now. Somber. "I'm not. I'd do it again, Moira, to save you and our son. In a heartbeat I would."

She shook her head. "No…you mustn't say that," she whispered. Appalled. Overcome.

"I would, Moy. For you and our son. Why else do you think I continue this damn fight? Of course I know it's unwinnable, at least by conventional means. But I do it for you. For our son. For myself, since you are my world now, and my son will be soon enough."

Moira felt a wave of emotion that caught in her throat, strangling her words until another more palpable wave struck along her abdomen. "Oh shit!" She doubled over suddenly, slumping but John caught her.

"Moira! Moira, was it is? Is it the baby? Moira? Is it the baby?"

"Gee, I don't know, John, what could these cramps possibly mean? Of course it's the baby!" she snapped, crying out as the labor pains rippled.

"Shit! Okay, okay, I'm here, Moira! Let's get you to medical! Shit!" He guided her to the main room but she yanked at his arm, nearly pulling him to the floor.

"No! I won't make it to medical, John! This baby is coming now!" she exclaimed, as her water broke.

"Shit!" John swore, easing her to the floor. "I'll get Beckett! Don't move!"

"Funny, John! GO!"


End file.
